The Morning After
by ricochette
Summary: Following the loss of Atlantis, John becomes a professor at a university.  When he bumps into a woman at a bar in Boulder, Colorado, he finds himself in over his head.  John/OFC.
1. Chapter 1

**AN: **I had a dream where Sheppard was a professor in a university. Strange, strange, strange, right? Well, I decided to turn it into a story. This story takes place after the last episode of Season 5. Long story short, the Super Hive is destroyed – but not without leaving Atlantis unscathed. Atlantis _does not_ make it back to Earth. I will go into more detail throughout this story.

This is a pretty strange idea, so I would definitely appreciate some reviews. Let me know what you think. I had a lot of fun writing this chapter.

**Lecture Hall, Thursday Morning:**

Marissa attempted to sit up tall during the lecture, but she kept sinking into her chair, hoping that her desk would swallow her and the floor would consume her, her desk, and any evidence of her presence in the lecture hall. She had not expected him, of all people. Him! She was so mad at herself. She tried anything to avoid looking at him and making eye contact – she noticed that his eyes had widened slightly when he saw her in the small crowd. She noticed how he quickly averted his gaze and attempted to focus on the other graduate students. And damn it, she noticed how his eyes would quickly turn to her when he saw that she was looking elsewhere. It was unnerving, to say the least: highly unnerving. She wanted nothing more than to simply go back to her apartment and ventilate the whole damned building. She wanted to wash her sheets and get rid of his scent – a scent that had once seemed so wonderful – yet now seemed to be an inescapable burden.

As the lecture ended, Marissa rose and walked down the wide aisle of the lecture hall toward the front, where her instructor stood. Marissa wore tailored jeans, brown leather ballet flats, and a long cardigan sweater. She walked past students who, even in their graduate years, were still wearing pajamas. Their informality annoyed her – she would never have considered going to school dressed in a sloppy fashion. Marissa's hair was pulled back into a loose bun; she wore barely-there hammered-silver jewelry that she had purchased at a fair in Estes Park. Her skin was still slightly tanned – a fading remnant of the warm summer months that had already seemed so long ago.

As Marissa continued to walk down the aisle, the students began to quickly shuffle out of the hall. She slowed her pace, hoping nobody would single her out as being at the front of the classroom. All she needed right now was to have people see her standing in front of the professor.

The professor sat at a desk in the front of the lecture hall – it was almost as if the desk was placed in the pulpit of a church. He leaned back against his chair casually, covered in a well-worn tweed coat. The coat hung over a cream-colored dress shirt; he wore no tie. His shirt was open slightly – a few stray hairs from his chest poked out from his shirt.

Just as he wore no tie, he wore no rings on his fingers. He was often talked about by the female graduate students – many of whom felt that it was unfair that such a fine specimen was seemingly off limits, merely because he was a professor. Regardless of gender, the students could all agree that he seemed to be bigger than what he had – that is, he seemed to be doing something that was too 'tame'. He struck people as a rugged and reckless individual who knew all too well that he had probably been destined for something a bit more important.

Not that having a Ph.D. in history wasn't important. It was.

But men like him were supposed to be out _there_ – in the world beyond the ivory tower – doing things that affected people immediately… All of the students seemed to think this. Many whispered about Dr. Sheppard as they left his class, while a few kept their thoughts quiet, not wanting to gossip about the man.

Those sentiments were shared with most of the university's faculty. He never made moves that indicated a desire to achieve greatness or some iota of academic fame: he never attended conventions, he wasn't a member of any historical societies, and he never published articles.

He had published something once, but he never talked about it. He got his job teaching two classes at the university based solely on the fact that he had a Ph.D. in addition to some rarely discussed connections. Rumors had circulated at first that Dr. Rodney McKay, the chair of the Physics Department, had a hand in granting Sheppard the job. The two apparently had a history – McKay vouched for him. Said he was responsible and knew what he was doing… or something like that. McKay's word went far, though – and this was something that McKay knew very well – and wasn't ashamed to use when he needed to.

The relationship between Sheppard and McKay had often been the subject of gossip – mainly amongst the various professors. At cocktail parties, people would drunkenly chat, wondering how on earth Sheppard and McKay had ever crossed paths. One person asserted that the two had been at work on some top-secret government project – yet his postulation was largely laughed at by the drunk academics that surrounded him.

This semester was the first semester that Sheppard had taught a graduate level history course – he, quite frankly, had no desire to administer the seminar. He wanted nothing to do with it – he was quite happy teaching his basic level survey classes and leaving the next day. Whereas most professors would have jumped at the prospect of teaching such a class, he didn't. The department practically had to beg the man to teach it. He was, ironically, the only person qualified to teach a class on that specific era of history – the period of American influence in post-WWII Europe.

Marissa Carson had not wanted to take the seminar – she wasn't really very interested in the American influence in post-WWII Europe. WWII hardly excited her – she much preferred American social culture. This, however, was one of the last classes she needed to complete before she could finish the last three chapters of her dissertation. She had never taken a class with Dr. Sheppard before – this was, after all, Sheppard's first graduate level class. She had not attended this university for her undergraduate degree – those days had been long behind her.

As Marissa got closer to the front of the classroom, she felt her feet getting heavier. She felt as if the weight of the world was slowly bearing down on her, making it nearly impossible for her to move further. She had wanted to put the events of the previous night behind them – she wanted to atone for what had transpired between her and Sheppard during their first meeting – that first, dreadful, and most unprofessional meeting between the two.

Seconds later, Marissa stood before Sheppard in an empty lecture hall. He rose from his desk and faced her. He tried to read her eyes – but they came up empty.

"Marissa." He stated, the sensuousness of last night and the earlier morning gone from his voice.

Marissa tried desperately to push the memory of earlier events out of her head. She failed.

**Boulder, Colorado: The Previous Night - Wednesday.**

There were few things that compelled Marissa Carson to drink: getting harassed by her violent and jealous ex-boyfriend Clint, however, was most definitely one of those things. She hadn't been with Clint in over two years – yet he still managed to drift in and out of her life randomly, never by her own choice. Earlier in the day, he left her a bunch of angry messages. She had blocked is cell phone, landline, and various numbers at the office – but he managed to call her from a payphone. He was angry and proceeded to shower her with the usual insults and epithets. Coupled with the rough day that Marissa had had earlier – she hadn't been in the best of moods.

So, in a rare act of total spontaneity, she called one of her friends living in downtown Boulder and asked her if she wanted to go out. Surprised by Marissa's request, Jane obliged and prepared to meet Marissa in her apartment at 9:30 PM.

By 10:30 PM, the two ladies were at a bar that they had frequented in their early twenties. Marissa and Jane were both 28 now – and they rarely had the time to go out and socialize like they did when they were younger. Work and graduate school got in the way of things.

The bar was incredibly crowded for a Wednesday. Jane agreed to grab a table while Marissa sauntered off to the bar. She wore ballet flats, a pair of jeans, and a black halter top – this was her tame attempt to get the most she could out of the Boulder September that was quickly fading from a late Summer into what would become a chilly Autumn. Her hair was slightly wavy and fell midway down her back. She looked pretty – yet incredibly casual. There were far better dressed women in the bar – and there were women that wore far more make up and had put far more effort in.

Effort, Marissa sighed to herself, wasn't the name of the game. This night, she reasoned, was dedicated to forgetting. With that in mind, she walked to the bar to get drinks.

Much to her chagrin, the bartenders seemed to be quite slow. After leaning up against the bar and craning her head into the serving area, she noticed that the bartenders were female and it looked like they were spending a lot more time making the male customers happy. Marissa frowned slightly and muttered a curse under her breath.

"You're not doing it right." Marissa turned to her left and came into contact with a handsome man – ruggedly handsome, even. He seemed quite aware of his presence. He leaned up against the bar and took in the sight before him. He eyed Marissa with a sense of lust as well as curiosity.

"Oh, and there's a more appropriate way to go about this, then?" Marissa snapped, continuing to lean up against the bar. Once again, she craned her head into the service area and attempted to make eye contact with one of the bartenders.

"You gotta _get_ their attention." John eyed her hungrily. "I'm sure you know how to do that by now," he added. Perhaps he had a few drinks, Marissa realized. She wasn't used to attention like that – but then again, she never really went out to bars.

"I guess this is one of those situations where having two X chromosomes simply isn't enough," she snapped at the man once again. He was starting to annoy her – she just wanted to get her two drinks and go back to see Jane!

"Looks like that isn't gonna work here, not tonight. At least not with _that _bartender." John quickly leaned up against the bar and waved at the bartender. As if on cue, the bartender quickly came over to John. She looked at him with incredibly lusty eyes. John turned to Marissa and quickly asked her what she was drinking.

Marissa looked back at the table for Jane, but found her at a pool table, drink in hand, with a man across the bar. Sighing, she looked at John. "A Ketel and soda in a pint glass with extra lemons."

"Ah, you're one of _those_." John stated before quickly giving the bartender the order.

"Excuse me?" Marissa asked, raising an eyebrow. The bartender was quick to work on two drinks – Marissa eyed the dark drink that was John's – she was pretty sure he was having a Jameson and coke. Two drinks were placed in front of them.

"Nevermind." John smiled and ran a hand through his hair. Marissa shuddered inwardly. That mannerism – damn it. Damn him. It was dangerous. "So, I never got your name."

"I never gave you my name," Marissa replied coolly, as she took the time to squeeze lemon juice and put it in her drink. John's eyes quickly darted down to her hands, taking in her fingers slowly squeezing the lemons and then dropping them into her pint glass.

"Yep, one of those." She laughed and hit him lightly against the arm. She wondered why she did it – but it seemed so natural. "I mean, it's only fair," he continued. "I buy you a drink, you tell me your name."

"Is that how it works?" Marissa asked, feigning ignorance.

"That's _exactly_ how it works." John commented with a sense of authority as he took a sip from his Jameson and coke.

Marissa cocked an eyebrow slightly and looked at him suspiciously. "Marissa," she conceded. Perhaps if he wasn't so handsome – and charming – she would have merely walked away.

"Marissa." John repeated back, almost sensuously. Nobody said her name like that.

"I believe," Marissa started, "the proper thing would be for you to give me _your_ name."

"There's nothing proper about this, Marissa." John responded casually, taking another sip from his drink. He then looked directly into her eyes. "But, I'll give in – just because you were so _proper_. It's… John."

"Thanks for the drink, John." Marissa winked and then began to walk away from the bar, in an attempt to finally pull her friend away from the pool table so they could sit and enjoy their drinks. Before she could get very far, she stopped as she felt John's hand on her arm.

"That's definitely not in the rules, Marissa." John pulled her close.

"Who's rules?" Marissa countered back defiantly, all the wall feeling warmth swimming through her, the warmth a result of John's touch.

"_The _rules. The _universally accepted rules_. I mean, it's probably right up there in the top ten: man buys pretty woman a drink. She stays and talks to him for at least five minutes, just enough to make him feel better about himself. It's… an investment."

"Ah, that rule!" Marissa exclaimed, feigning a sense of realization. "I'm not familiar with it." With that, she turned on her heel and went to go find her friend.

"Of course it wasn't going to be _that_ easy." John muttered under his breath.

Rodney McKay turned around and looked at him with a slight smirk.

"And what do we have here?" He said with a sense of pure glee. "Sheppard not getting his way?"

"Easy there." John eyed the brunette as she pulled her friend away from the pool table. "I'm…"

"Determined?" Rodney supplied. John continued to look at the woman. "Desperate? Dejected?"

"Enough." John waved his hand at Rodney, hushing him up. "Drink your beer."

John watched with a slight scowl as the gorgeous woman sat down and engaged in an animated discussion with her friend. As he looked away slightly, he saw the two women turn to him look at him while they talked. He smirked slightly, knowing full well that the scene wasn't lost on McKay.

"Sheppard mind tricks?" Rodney asked with a slight grin. He couldn't help it – when he had a few beers in him, watching a scene like this unfold never ceased to be amusing.

"Something like that." John replied, taking a sip of his drink. "Something like that."

Thirty minutes later, Marissa walked up to the bar. Much to her chagrin, she continued to wait for what seemed like ages. Annoyed with the slow service, she began to tap her fingers up against the bar. She sighed – once again, she muttered under her breath. Her friend was most definitely going to go back to the pool table to play with that guy again – what with drinks taking forever to be poured. Of course, it didn't help that Jane was now slightly interested in seeing Marissa get set up with John. By bowing out of the situation, Jane realized that Marissa had no choice.

"Marissa." John stated with that same seductive voice. Without averting her gaze from the bar, Marissa immediately knew who it was. "You're still not doing it right."

"And you're still persistent."

"What can I say? I like to keep tabs on rule breakers."

"Still on about that, eh?" Marissa looked at him. She couldn't help but find herself entranced by him – she inwardly cursed is charm and good looks.

"Mmmhmmmm." John looked at her empty glass. "Another of the same?"

Marissa shook her head slightly. "Amstel Light."

"Slowing down?" John asked, grinning.

"Big day tomorrow." She answered back, giving little details. She was starting the first day of her last required graduate level lecture course. Even though the class was at 11 AM, she didn't want to take any chances. She couldn't afford to screw this one up.

"Fair enough." John leaned across the bar and winked at the bartender – again, she was not immune to his tricks. She scowled at Marissa, causing John to chuckle. Marissa noticed this – and she knew, deep down, that it was impossible to deny how attractive John was. She saw, however, that he was trouble – and she didn't want to get too deeply involved.

Marissa saw a large figure looming in the corner of her eye and turned. Her eyes widened as she saw her crazed ex boyfriend Clint coming towards her. "God damn it!" She exclaimed loudly, all the while wondering how he knew where to find her.

John instantly peeled his eyes away from the bar and studied the man who was coming for Marissa. He quickly identified him as a threat and began to plan how to deal with him. Was he a threat that needed to be neutralized? John reasoned that he was. His warrior days had not been _that _far back in the past. He knew what to do.

"Boyfriend?" John asked casually, hoping the man wasn't involved with the woman he had been pursuing.

"A long since _ex_ boyfriend." Marissa sighed.

"Who follows you and looks pretty pissed when he sees you interested in another man?" John quickly added.

"That's the one." Marissa paused and finally took in all of John's words. "Interested?" She quickly asked, looking at him with a sense of confusion.

"Yep." John winked at her – which Clint saw. "Interested."

"John, I'm –"

"You remembered my name." John cut her off. "You're interested."

Marissa simply stared him down as they waited for the inevitable – Clint's arrival.

He finally stood before Marissa. She winced and began to back up until she was leaning against the bar. John quickly began to deduce the nature of their relationship. Did he hit her? Abuse her? She winced, after all. A bunch of worst-case scenarios began to swim through his head. He didn't think what he saw was a good sign.

"Why are you here?" Marissa inquired, raising her voice at Clint. He didn't smirk – he just looked angry.

"New boyfriend, eh?" He asked in an accusatory tone.

"Go to hell, Clint." She damned him – something she would not have usually done. She instantly regretted having those extra drinks.

John got a bit closer to Clint and decided to intervene.

"You should leave." John said the words calmly and with little emotion. "Now."

"John, stay out of this." Marissa said quietly, hoping that this wouldn't escalate into anything embarrassing.

"John, is it? The new guy?" Clint eyed her up and down. John didn't like how Clint was looking at Marissa. "You'd better stay away from this slut, _John_. You don't know what you're getting into."

Before John could say anything, Ronon – who had been talking with Rodney seconds earlier – turned around and faced the man. He quickly moved in front of Clint, acting as a human barrier between Marissa and her ex.

"You should have left when you had the chance." Ronon said harshly. Marissa never saw the man's face – the one who had stepped in – but she saw a tattoo that reminded her of Maori designs wrapped around his wrist. He had a mass of brown dreadlocks on his head; they trailed down his back. He wore a sleeveless shirt – his muscles were clearly evident. This wasn't a man you'd want to get into a bar fight with.

Ronon was in no mood to be nice like John had been. He was in a sour mood – he was _the_ reason why John and Rodney had gone out to that bar in the first place. Ronon had just gotten into a pretty bad argument with Jennifer Keller – and he had stormed out of their apartment, visibly upset. Jennifer, knowing Ronon more than he would ever admit, shot John and Rodney a text to give them a head's up. They all knew that it wasn't wise to let Ronon go out by himself when he was in such a state.

"What the –" Clint began.

"You." Ronon grabbed the man's shirt forcefully. "Out." He began to pull him. "Now." He then proceeded to drag the man toward the door of the bar. Marissa didn't know it then, but that would be the last time Clint would ever bother her.

Rodney had been standing near Ronon when this all transpired. He looked at the bottom of his glass of beer and rolled his eyes. "Always the brawn before the brains." He shook his head. "Without fail."

As Marissa watched the man drag Clint out of the bar, she turned to John.

"Who are you?" She asked pointedly, unsure of what to think about what had just happened.

John tried to avert her gaze but couldn't. This was going to be difficult.

"I'm… _retired_."

"No, you aren't." Marissa countered, feeling bold – and having a few vodka sodas running through her. "Who are your friends?" Marissa eyed McKay – he had looked so familiar! – she was trying to figure out where she knew him from. And that guy with the dreadlocks? She had no idea. She was lost. She sure as hell wanted answers, though. Something was off about John.

The awkward conversation was abruptly ended when Jane came up to Marissa.

"What the fuck was that?" Jane exclaimed, obviously drunk. She hadn't gone out drinking in a very long time and her tolerance had obviously gone way down.

"I'm fine, Jane." Marissa looked directly into Jane's eyes. "Everything is fine."

"Are you sure?" Jane asked, pressing the issue.

"Yes."

"Do you mind if I leave? I have to take a cab back to the other end of town." Jane looked really upset about her predicament – it was far later than she had anticipated and she had work the next morning at 8 AM.

"Jane." The women locked eyes once again. "Do _not_ worry about me, okay? Go home and get some sleep." Marissa touched her shoulder, in an attempt to tell her that everything was okay. "Text me when you get home."

Jane nodded and then left the bar to hail a cab. She saw a man with dreadlocks standing in front of a slumped over Clint – and she was definitely not ashamed to admit that she was smiling to herself at the sight.

Back in the bar, Rodney turned to John.

"Sheppard, I'm out." Rodney said, eager to distance himself from all of the excitement. "That conference is tomorrow – bright and early." John nodded and watched as Rodney paid and then left the bar. The name Sheppard popped into Marissa's head… it sounded so… familiar. John's words, however, quickly pushed those thoughts out of her mind.

"How are you getting home?" John asked Marissa, who was still standing slightly in shock. So much had transpired in less than five minutes.

"I think I'm going to walk. I have to… I dunno… clear my head." Marissa's apartment was a ten to fifteen minute walk away from the bar – and the area was generally safe to walk in at night.

"Alone?" John inquired. He didn't like the idea of Marissa – a woman who he had barely met – walking home alone at night – especially coming from a bar.

Marissa nodded.

"If you're gonna walk, Marissa, I'm walking with you." He stated, giving her absolutely no choice. He wouldn't take no for an answer. Given what had just happened, Marissa wasn't one to argue. John subtly motioned for the bartender to give him his tab. He signed the bill and grabbed his coat.

"C'mon." He simply stated. Marissa followed him and they walked out of the bar together. She shivered as the night's slightly chilly air hit her bare arms. "Was that _all _you wore?" John asked, not caring if he seemed overly concerned.

"I didn't anticipate walking." Marissa stated simply. Before she could protest, John took off the coat he was wearing and draped it over her shoulders. "That's –"

"That's enough. It's not worth being cold over." He said quickly, indicating he was not interested in changing his mind. Marissa had quickly noticed that about John – from the moment he first talked to her. He didn't back down and he was stubborn as hell.

The two walked for a few minutes in silence. John followed Marissa's lead, as her apartment seemed to be in the opposite direction of his. He wondered what she was thinking – he continued to look at her. He watched the wind blow through her wavy hair, sending pieces of it astray. He didn't know why, but he had the desire to put her hair in its place – to take care of her. John wondered why he felt this way, as this rarely ever happened to him.

"The sky is so clear tonight." Marissa said with a sense of curiosity, briefly looking up at the stars and breaking the silence. "You can see all of the stars."

"You like to star gaze?" John asked, his interest piqued.

"When I have the time – when the sky is clear… but I don't know anything about the constellations. I've always wanted to learn about them, though." She said with a mild sense of regret.

"It's a hobby of mine… on the side." John admitted. Marissa stopped walking and turned to him.

"Really?" Marissa smiled. She practically forgot what had previously transpired in the bar. "Do you have a favorite constellation?"

John smiled and looked up at the sky.

"That one." He pointed up to it. He stood behind her took her hand. With her hand in his, he traced the constellation out. He put their hands down and released his when he finished mapping out the constellation.

"What's its name?"

"Pegasus." John answered softly. That one word meant so much to him. When Marissa asked who he was, that was the one word that he wanted to say. It was all that came to mind. It was what he was – the blood he bled – the people he left behind. It was the rock that the tree still managed to grow around and embrace with its ever twisting, ever growing limbs.

"Pegasus," Marissa uttered, letting the word slip out from between her lips like honey. "How can you be sure _that _is your Pegasus?"

John walked close to Marissa and took her hand. Much to her surprise, she didn't pull back. John then raised her hand and stood behind her, barely touching her back.

"I know who she is –"

"How do you know it's a she?" Marissa asked with a slight laugh.

"Oh, I know. Trust me. She's a she." John chuckled with a smirk. After all that Pegasus had put him through, she had to be female. There was no other explanation. "As I was saying, I know who she is because of her shape. And what she's made of."

"Stars?"

"She's made of tons of stars… and some of those stars have planets orbiting them. But… what makes it obvious is her shape. If you connect the stars like dots," John said as he raised Marissa's hand to the sky, "you see a horse." John continued to trace the constellation with Marissa's hand.

"What do you think is out there?" Marissa asked, turning to face John after he released her hand. Normally she'd feel foolish asking such a question, but she imagined that John had thought about it when he spent time gazing at the stars.

"Everything." He answered simply, running a hand through his hair. "Anything you could ever imagine." Satisfied with his answer, Marissa started walking slowly and John followed. They continued to walk, mostly in silence, until John saw that Marissa had stopped. Marissa briefly looked up at her building and wished that the walk to her apartment had been longer.

"Well, this is it." Marissa said as they stood in front of her door. John didn't know how to approach the situation – for the first time in a very long time he had wondered what to do. He hadn't, after all, contemplated being with a woman in a very long time. He was always… distracted…

He turned to face Marissa and attempted to read her.

"Thanks, John… for walking me home." Marissa said sheepishly. She walked backwards a bit to get to the door of her apartment building.

"It was the right thing to do," John supplied. He winced slightly after the words came out – he didn't want Marissa to think that he had walked her home merely out of some sense of obligation. "I wanted to." He added quickly. Marissa smiled slightly at his admission.

Against her better judgment – and without any regard for how important the next day was going to be – Marissa said something – something that she would most certainly regret the next day.

"Do you want to come in?" Marissa inquired. "For a cup of coffee?" She added quickly.

For a very brief moment, John weighed his options. Would it be improper of him to enter into her apartment and partake in some coffee? Perhaps. What if it was just partaking in some coffee? Maybe not. But what if it led to more?

"Sure." John answered, before he finished thinking. He did that sometimes.

The two-flight walk up to Marissa's apartment was silent. John took note of the building: it was old. The hallways still had wallpaper on them – and there was most certainly no elevator in the building. He walked behind Marissa, taking in her scent as she moved in front of him. She smelled like vanilla – however, after wearing his jacket for the walk to her apartment, she began to smell a bit like him – musky.

Deep down, Marissa knew what would happen. She wondered why this didn't bother her – most usually, it would have. Then again, it never would have happened to begin with. She couldn't help but think that John was different. There was something about him… something about him that she had never seen before.

She took her keys out of her purse and slowly opened the door. She felt John's presence behind her. After turning on the light, she threw her purse on the kitchen table.

"Make yourself comfortable." She encouraged John. He smiled slightly and then sat on her couch. He noticed that her apartment was lined with bookshelves – she had a television set, but it didn't look like she got much use out of it. His eyes glazed over the titles of the books – they were mostly books about history and archaeology. One book in particular caught his eye – it was laid out on the coffee table next to a yellow highlighter.

"How do you like this book?" John asked with a sense of curiosity. He had assigned it for a class he was teaching at the university. It was a strange coincidence, but he thought little of it. He saw Marissa preparing a small pot of coffee.

"Not really my taste." Marissa answered from the kitchen. "I'll be glad to be done with it."

"Well, that's one thing we'll have to agree to disagree on." John stated. Marissa's melodious laughter could be heard from the kitchen. John smiled as he heard her laugh – it sounded so… vibrant. It was something he had missed.

"As long as we don't have to discuss that text, John." Marissa answered back. Shortly thereafter, she brought two cups of coffee, a small sugar bowl, and a small cup of milk out into the living room. Placing the items on the coffee table, she sat on the same sofa as John. She put a good two feet in between them.

"You like history, then?" John inquired, briefly glancing over at the bookshelves that lined her walls.

"That would be a fair assessment." Marissa put a small amount of sugar in her otherwise black coffee and stirred the dark contents of the cup. "It's a big part of my life." She added.

"I see." John followed her cue and took the cup of coffee.

Marissa took a cautious sip from the hot cup and placed it down on the table. "You never answered the question I asked back at the bar." Curiosity had gotten the better of her once again.

"And what question was that, rule breaker?" John asked with a smirk.

"Don't try to evade me with your Lothario ways." Marissa countered back. "You know what I'm talking about."

"So I'm a Lothario now?" John smiled. "I must be doing something right." The words fell out of his mouth like warm honey, invading the two feet of space that separated the pair on Marissa's couch. The dimly lit apartment seemed to be darker; the air seemed to grow colder.

Marissa had no response. What had she hoped for? What had she thought she'd get out of this? She could only draw blanks.

"I guess you are." She stated simply, realizing that she wasn't immune to his charms. Of course she wasn't – she never had been. She had fallen for this Lothario the moment he spoke to her at that bar. She cursed herself inwardly. Damn him. Damn this.

And John could do nothing but radiate desire. He gazed into Marissa's dark blue eyes, again trying to read her – but coming up with nothing. She was impossible to break through. She seemed so… young. So young and fresh – compared to the older, more bitter cynicism that he tried his best not to exude.

Marissa placed her cup of coffee on her coffee table. She felt that the two feet between them was closing. She didn't fight it, and she noticed that John went along with it as well.

Marissa turned to John and looked into his eyes with a sense of playful curiosity.

"What do you do?" John could not tell her the truth. The truth was… it wasn't black and white. It was full of different shades – hell, it contained the whole damned color spectrum.

"I recently switched professions," he said almost sensuously. All of his words seemed to flow like a warm, slow liquid. Like honey. He couldn't help it.

"Ah, so I'll take that as a sign that you don't want to talk about it." Marissa chuckled slightly. "What made you switch professions?"

"Well…" John started. "I… I couldn't do it anymore." He half lied. Because, deep down, he knew he had never left. He still showed up to Cheyenne Mountain. He showed up when he was required to, but it wasn't like it was before – before they all lost Atlantis. His voice sounded strained. He was so honest – he spoke without censor. _I had no choice_, John said inside of his head. _I had no damned choice_. The thoughts pained him, and he tried to push them out of his head. Now was not the time to be thinking about sacrifice.

"I'm sorry." Marissa said apologetically, putting a hand on John's thigh. He was warm to her touch. She normally wasn't so open with such displaces of affection, but it seemed right.

John turned to look deeply into Marissa's eyes. Up until that moment, Marissa had underestimated him. Close enough, she peered deeply into his blue orbs. He seemed so much more…intense… than she had assumed he would be. He looked pained. Desperate. Concerned. Almost happy. Confident. Powerful. Alone – by choice.

"Either I leave now, or I leave much later," John said bluntly, no longer able to keep away from Marissa. "When you're looking at me like that… you…"

"I know." Marissa said, silencing him and accepting his offer. John reached out and brushed a piece of hair that had fallen out of Marissa's lose ponytail. She didn't back away. "It's okay." She added softly, parting her lips.

John moved in closer and captured her lips with his own. He felt their tongues begin to touch as their bodies came into full contact with each other. Marissa ran her hand down his back as he held her close to him. He moaned slightly as she ran a hand through his hair and nibbled slightly on his lower lip.

No going back now, Marissa reasoned. Though, truly, there had been no going back the moment John attempted to show her the stars. The kisses and caresses could not be governed by time; though Marissa did notice that by the time they had retreated to the darkness of her bedroom, her clock had informed her that over an hour had passed.

When John had decided to go out hours earlier her, he did not imagine that he would have been fumbling quickly with a condom wrapper in a woman's apartment. He wouldn't have expected anything like that to happen – it had been so long… and he wasn't happy about it… but he learned to live with it.

As the night wore on and legs became entwined, moans slipped out into the air, and sweat sunk into the sheets of Marissa's bed, she paid no attention to the fact that she had to be up early the next day. She paid no attention to the future – she wanted the moment. In John – a man who she knew little about save his penchant for stargazing – she found an escape.

The next morning, the two awoke to the sound of Marissa's glaring alarm. John groaned. Marissa noticed that he had held her throughout the night – something that made her strangely satisfying. She almost felt… better… about herself, about her night, and about her decisions, knowing that he hadn't up and left.

"You trying to wake the dead with that thing?" John muttered, holding Marissa against his chest.

"Just trying to get ready for another day in paradise," Marissa answered sarcastically, taking in John's musky warmth. "Although I do have to get up soon… it's eight… I should have been up at seven…"

"Duty calls?" John asked, turning to look into her eyes. He didn't want to leave her, but he knew he had to. He, after all, had plans as well that morning.

"Something like that." Marissa replied with a smile.

John rose up slightly and Marissa looked up at him, wondering what he was going to do. She didn't want to pressure him into anything, so she waited for him to speak.

"I want to see you again." John said simply, leaving no room for interpretation.

"That would be nice."

**Lecture Hall, Thursday Morning:**

"Marissa." The way he said her name made her crazy. After seeing her – realizing it was her – and then verifying that it was her by gazing at his roll call – he did his best to avoid looking at her through the short, introductory lecture. He hadn't passed her a syllabus – he had another student give one to her. He hadn't said her name, made eye contact, or even looked remotely in her direction.

Unknown to Marissa, John was the seminal strategist. He had stood at the front of the room, leaving up against his desk, stealing glances at her when her head was down – and her head was down, looking at her syllabus quite a lot. He attempted to read her and gauge her level of discomfort – something he concluded, after a few moments, was quite high. When going through the course requirements, he merely read them aloud, focusing the majority of his mental capacity on how to talk to her. He knew, after all, that he would end up talking to her.

On the laundry list of absurd conditions that he found himself in, this one was quite new. Avoiding her one hundred percent? That would be impossible. He had to make it work.

Marissa stood in front of him now, in front of his looking into her eyes. She could still hear the way he said her name – "Marissa" – playing through her head, making her feel slightly ill.

Marissa. She looked directly into his eyes and made a snap decision. There would only be one way to play this – and that way would involve preserving what was left of her future career and putting her night with John Sheppard in the past.

"John –" As Marissa began to speak, John cut her off.

"This is…"

"Awkward. Yep. Awkward." Marissa supplied. "But, it doesn't need to be. I wanted to let you know that what happened last night will not happen again… it was merely a… _drunken_ indiscretion, which I'm sure you'd agree with." She wondered if she looked like she was lying. She had a pretty good poker face. "Its…." Marissa through in, in an attempt to sound more detached, "It's not even a memory."

"I see." John stated in reply. He was usually the person that took charge in a situation – this was rare for him. He felt anger and embarrassment rising within him; he should have known better. He shouldn't have pursued this woman so intensely last night.

He shouldn't have accepted her invitation into her apartment. He knew they'd have sex – he knew it, but he went along with it anyways. He shouldn't have bought her those drinks and flirted with her incessantly and somehow tricked himself into thinking that she was genuinely interested in anything save for a really quick, forgettable fuck. He should have played the game differently.

Played it so he wasn't the one getting played and feeling used afterwards – but then, of course, the other person would walk away feeling the same way he did. _Is this how this feels_? Sheppard asked himself. John Sheppard stared at Marissa Carson's retreating figure – she was leaving the room, allowing him no time to even reply to her. For the first time in his life, he felt incredibly embarrassed by a woman.

And put down.

He didn't enjoy being referred to as a "drunken indiscretion".


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note:** To me, this story is about how John, along with other main characters, come to terms with their situation. My mission is to dig deeper into the lives of these characters – after all, the writers didn't seem to give us much (shame on them… we'd probably have a few more seasons if they did!). While this fic is going to be John centric – dealing with his struggles – there will be significant parts on Ronon, Jennifer, etc., etc.

**This chapter is more or less setting the tone and getting up to speed with where everybody is emotionally. I find that it's really choppy and I'm not the hugest fan of it. It's kind of necessary to carry the story forward… I guess… I'm sorry if it's not up to par!**

Thanks for taking the time to read my story, and I hope that you'll leave me a review and let me know what you think.

**Chapter 2**

"Your hands are red." Jennifer stood in the doorway of her kitchen, looking intently at her husband. "Bantos rods don't make your hands red…" She added, quite observantly, biting a bit on her lower lip.

"No, they don't." Ronon turned away from the pan where he was cooking a breakfast stir-fry and shrugged. "I was mad." He added quietly.

"It's been a while since your hands have been that red." Jennifer took a sip from her coffee as she leaned up against the door. "Would you have red hands if we hadn't argued last night?" She looked into Ronon's eyes and raised an eyebrow.

"No." He looked down at his stir-fry and moved the contents of pan with a large spoon.

"What happened, then?" It had been a long time since Ronon and Jennifer had a conversation like this.

"A man tried to go after a woman Sheppard was with." He said plainly. "She was in danger."

"John… and a woman?" Jennifer asked in a surprised tone, her mind drifting away from Ronon's red knuckles. John hadn't been with a woman – hell, he hadn't been himself – since Atlantis had been lot.

"I asked myself the same thing," Ronon added as he took the contents out of the pan and put them on a sage green plate. He sat at their kitchen table and Jennifer walked to sit across from him.

"You know… John… right now? He reminds me of you back when you first came to Atlantis."

"That bad, huh?"

"Silent. No trust. Always looking over your shoulder, ready to break out into a run without any warning. Almost cold. Rough around the edges." Jennifer took another sip from her coffee and looked into her husband's eyes. She traced his red knuckles with both of her hands. Ronon looked at her pensively.

"Classic PTSD," Jennifer started again, still holding her husband's large hands within her own. "I saw it a mile away. It entered the room before you even came in. And your eyes – always critical, always focused on a strange mix of past, present, and future."

"It took a lot for me." Ronon added quietly. Jennifer hated to think of it in such crude terms – but Ronon had been enslaved – denied a voice. The fact that he could admit as such in a soft, soft tone was quite meaningful.

"You had to leave Pegasus, Ronon." Jennifer reasoned, still holding Ronon's hands.

"And John has to go back." Ronon replied. "Maybe," he said, as he rose from his chair and leaned in to kiss his wife on her forehead, "this woman – from last night – is a sign that he's ready to go back."

"Only he can accept that he _can't_ change the past – and that nothing will be the same." Jennifer added in an almost motherly tone. As John's primary care physician… hell, she was worried that he was in the process of a downward spiral.

xx

Ronon sat on his yoga mat and stretched his muscles. His second floor studio sat above an Indian spice store; the warm smell of cumin and coriander swam in through his window when the wind blew a certain way. A few candles were lit and light incense was burning. A tapestry that Teyla had given him many seasons ago – after the first Athosian harvest that he worked the field – hung on one of the walls.

His first class would arrive in less than an hour. He pulled his body into a lotus position and began to meditate, always mindful of the techniques that Teal'c taught him so long ago.

The studio, appropriately named _Dex Martial Arts_, held multiple bantos rod classes, as well as two classes on the fighting styles of Sateda. Customers often wondered why Ronon's techniques were unavailable in other studios – they found that he knew his art intimately – and that he was the only person offering such styles. His eclectic mix of self-defense and meditation had thus become quite popular in the Boulder area.

It was the fall of Atlantis and his imposed exile from Pegasus that allowed Ronon to claim his life back. It took losing his second home to seek out Jennifer; it took his exodus from Pegasus to drive him away from the love of war. His life, prior to Atlantis' fall, had worn him down.

His studio, however, was a statement. A statement that in the endless span between galaxies, culture could not die simply because one destructive race wished it to. It was his peaceful war against the Wraith; he waged it one moment at a time – one student at a time.

It was also a statement of hope – hope that Teyla was alive with Torren – hope that somehow, wrongs could be made right and debts could be paid. This, if anything, he reasoned, was Teyla's legacy. It was Teyla, after all, who had retaught him the meaning of compassion after nearly a decade of slavery.

As Ronon took in the earthy incense and felt the autumn breeze wash over him, he pushed thoughts of vengeance out of his mind. Kicking and punching that animal of a man was wrong, he reaffirmed. It wasn't the man who he was – at least not now, not anymore.

xx

Marissa ran out of the lecture hall as fast as her feet could carry her. Usually composed and professional, she wanted to vomit. She felt that her world had been shattered – one night stood up against all of the hard work that she had put into building up her career. One night – one night to bring the whole tower down.

She wouldn't tell Jane, she reasoned – no, she couldn't. She couldn't let _anybody_ know. The fact that she had to see John was bad enough – knowing that she would have to think of him as _Doctor Sheppard_ only made matters worse. Knowing that he potentially held the keys to her career made her cringe. She wished in vain that she could pluck the words she had uttered to him in the lecture hall out of the air and back into her mouth – she wanted to swallow them.

She thought back to the previous night – the way John had recognized the book spread out on her coffee table, parts of it highlighted. Marissa reasoned that she should have asked him how he knew about the text – and if he was honest, she would have known to back off. It would have ended there.

But it didn't, and her sheets smelled like him. His number sat on a piece of paper on her nightstand, next to vanilla scented candles and her alarm clock. She could make out his technical handwriting, as if she had taken a mental picture of the piece of paper that sat on her nightstand.

Marissa tried to recall if there was any other way to complete her degree – any random way that would get her out of that one dreaded class. Hell, she hadn't even wanted to take the class in the first place. After moments of sitting, dejected, on a park bench near her bicycle, she realized that she had no choice but to finish what she started.

It would take mental fortitude, but she could do it, she reasoned. Four years into a five year degree – to throw it all away because of a stupid man? She wouldn't let that happen.

xx

Rodney sat across from John in John's office. He stared at the man who he had once thought was the epitome of calm and cool. That man was gone – he seemed perturbed, on edge, and in need of sleep.

"You know, Captain Kirk, I was doing some important work – _very _important work – when you pulled me away and made me come to your office." Rodney took a quick sip from his coffee and looked at John, curious as to what on Earth possessed him to call Rodney away from his work. The pair knew what his work was – it was planning. The great plan to return to Pegasus – to find "home." Every spare moment of time was spent on this arduous endeavor – Rodney barely slept. The fact that he could joke about it in front of John almost made John smile. Almost.

"I'm going to Hell." John stated bluntly, interrupting Rodney.

"You dragged me out of my office to tell me that you're going to Hell?" Rodney asked incredulously. "I've known you for years – and you think that something you did over the course of the past twenty four hours really makes a difference?"

"Do you remember that woman from last night?" John asked, quickly cutting to the chase.

"Ah, yes…. How could I forget?" Rodney rolled his eyes. Pegasus – _Pegasus!_ – was waiting. "You brought me in here to tell me about some woman you picked up at a bar? As I said before… _important_ research is happening!"

"Rodney." John cut him off sharply. "She's…" He hesitated, knowing there was no 'good' way to say it. "In my graduate level class."

Rodney abruptly choked on his coffee.

"Are you serious?" He stared at John with wide eyes.

"Is this something I'd be joking about?" John asked, annoyed.

"Christ." Rodney began to mutter under his breath. "Does she know?" He asked quickly, almost randomly.

"Does she know?" John's voice began to rise in volume. "What in the hell kinda question is that? _Does she know?_"

"Well… she could have been… I dunno… _drunk_?" He supplied quickly with no sense of social grace.

"Wow, Rodney. Thanks for giving me the benefit of the doubt. I appreciate your vote of confidence." John shook his head.

Rodney rolled his eyes a bit and then looked across the desk at John. "So… she knows, right?"

"Don't make me get my lemon!" John's eyes quickly darted to the top right drawer on his desk.

"Easy! I'm just saying, y'know, maybe playing Lothario isn't always the best, eh?"

"You're unbelievable." He and Rodney both knew those Lothario days were over.

"Hey! I didn't sleep with my _student!_" Rodney said frantically with wide eyes, almost worried that somebody would hear the conversation through the door.

"I didn't know!" He paused and then further tried to defend himself. "And… she's a _graduate_ student."

"And that makes it better?" Rodney shot back.

"Why, yes, it does!" John shook his head and wrung his hands.

"So, what are you going to do? You can't get out of teaching that class… and you can't make her drop it. Well, you could –" Rodney stopped the thought mid-sentence when he saw John glaring at him. "So, what are you going to say to her?"

"Nothing." Rodney raised an eyebrow at John's admission. "She already came up to me and blamed everything on poor judgment. She said it was _already_ forgotten."

"Ouch."

"She's lying." John added.

"She's trying to put it past her and get her degree, John." Rodney reasoned.

"She's still lying to me." John said, as if he was scheming.

"I see how it is. You're going to pursue her, aren't you?"

"I didn't say that." John defended himself.

"Your gears are turning. I can read you like a book." Rodney shook his head and almost smiled. "You want her to admit she doesn't regret it."

"I didn't –" John started, only to be cut off by Rodney.

"You implied it. And you know what? For the first time in a long time, you're in over your head. You're in a game that you don't know how to play."

"This isn't a game!" John answered back, raising his voice. In fact, he wondered what had gotten into him in the first place – he hadn't been with a woman since… Atlantis… the memory pained him too much to think about; he pushed it quickly out of his head.

"Well, you sure as hell are trying to work your way around the rules!" Rodney countered, quickly looking down at his watch. "Damn it! I have to get to a meeting with a graduate student – one who I _didn't_ sleep with." Rodney ran out of John's office. He hastily shut the door behind him.

As the door closed, John threw the lemon from his drawer as hard as he could at the door. As the lemon fell to the floor, he stared at the citrus juice smear that was left on the door.

John rubbed his forehead with his hand – his lemon throwing hand – and sighed. "Damn it, McKay," he muttered to himself.

He sighed, realizing that McKay was correct – but then again, what was he supposed to do? He couldn't forget her – the conversation, the stargazing, the books she had around her apartment – and he knew this would be a problem.

John sat at his desk and shook his head.

xx

Jennifer Keller sat at her desk in her downtown office. She looked at her calendar that was pulled open on her computer. She blinked a few times and rubbed her eyes, already tired of her computer screen. A few pictures stood on her desk, framed in unique wooden frames – Ronon had carved them a few years back, when they were both in Pegasus. She had a picture of her late father; one of her and Laura Cadman – missing in action, presumed dead; and a picture of her and Ronon on their wedding day.

She kept a picture of Teyla and Torren in her top right desk drawer, almost feeling that if she exposed the memory to daylight it would drift away. The unframed picture sat beside Jennifer's Atlantis mission patch – another artifact from a journey that she was unable to speak about.

Rumors came and went through the office about the pretty young doctor who had been capable of neurosurgery, yet opted to run an obstetrics and gynecology practice. She wanted to save lives – to bring people into the world – as well as to improve the lives of the people around her. That was her logic… she could no longer take the excitement of procedures that brought her back to her days at Stargate Command. Maybe it was PTSD – maybe not. She just claimed she was tired.

As Jennifer rose from her desk and began to walk toward her first appointment of the day, she wondered if she had more in common with John than she thought. Had it not been for Ronon, would she have been the same? She glanced at the photo of her and Laura that sat on her desk, took a long meaningful look, and then shut the lights off in her office and closed the door.

xx

"We're done." Ronon said quietly, throwing his Bantos rods on the ground. The noise they made as they hit the floor rang throughout the silent room – dampened only by the light sound of the crickets chirping in the Boulder night.

"You serious?"

"We can't do this in anger." Ronon said simply. For a brief moment, he saw agitation flicker through John's eyes. Before John could say anything, he realized that he was wrong and threw his Bantos rods on the floor calmly, reclaiming his sense of cool.

"What made you so wise?" John asked pointedly.

"The same thing that's eating away at you."

John looked at Ronon, lost in thought. He closed his eyes and stretched out his neck and arms; he then rubbed his eyes with his hands. Opening both eyes and running a hand through his hair, he looked deeply at Ronon. "Funny… how they're so far away…" John's hand drifted to his feeding scar. "Yet the pain always lingers…" He rubbed the scar absentmindedly, a gesture not lost on Ronon. "Eating… away at you… clawing at you…"

"Who was she, last night?" Ronon asked, breaking John out of his dangerous reverie.

"Someone who understands." He sighed. "Someone who can see through the bullshit."

"You'll see her again, then?"

John smirked for a brief second, which was rare – and then his grin faded back into stoicism. "She's off limits."

"That never stopped you before," Ronon replied with a gruff laugh.

"And if going after her defied the written rules?" John looked at the man before him with a raised eyebrow.

Ronon shrugged, stretched out his arms, and then sat on the floor. He pulled himself into the lotus position, indicating that he was ready to begin the final stage of their nightly ritual: meditation. Before consigning himself to peace and serene, he smirked.

"Rules can be rewritten." Ronon said, almost smirking. John shook his head and then mimicked Ronon as he slid onto the floor and attempted to gain what little peace he could. It would be a long night.

To be continued…


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note:** I'm well aware that it's been over a year since I've updated this story. A lot has happened between now and then, to say the least. Part of what put me off and killed my muse was that I didn't sense people were reading or enjoying this story. Regardless, I hope those of you who are reading enjoy this.

I hope to update this more frequently, as I now have an outline of this story written out right to the end.

Please read and leave a review if you see fit. It's the only way we get paid here!

xxxx

Marissa glanced at her iPhone hastily. Satisfied that she had enough time to ride her bike to the university in lieu of taking her Subaru, she threw her tote bag in the front basket of her bike and began to pedal. Marissa could hear the autumn leaves crunching beneath her bicycle wheels. As she continued to pedal her dark purple Bianchi, she tried to reason with herself.

It had been one week since she confronted John in the lecture hall – and it had been a week full of second-guessing. Had she been too harsh? She bit her bottom lip as she pensively pedaled more closely to the university. At the time, confronting the man had seemed like the best decision. Given the reality that she faced – the fact that she couldn't be with him but she couldn't avoid him – she felt that she had done what was best at the time.

After a week of obsessing over the biggest faux pas in recent memory, Marissa wondered if she would be able to walk into the history department and go to the lecture without getting red in the face. She had erred, she realized. She had screwed up big time.

Perhaps it was best to let John speak his peace – he seemed like the type of man who knew what to say at the right time. He seemed like somebody who always had a solution. John wouldn't have spoken to soon.

"I shouldn't call him John," Marissa muttered to herself as she parked her bicycle by the rack and dismounted. She quickly chained her bike to the rack and pulled her tote bag from her bike's basket. After a quick sprint to the lecture hall, Marissa walked slowly in to the classroom and made her way to a seat in the middle of the room.

She was reminded of that time she walked into a freshman physics class with a terrible hangover – she felt like she was trying to blend in with the mediocrity of the crowd so as to avoid the attention of the professor. Back in freshman year, there were no John Sheppards. Things were different now.

By the time Marissa walked into the lecture hall, she had arrived five minutes early. She grabbed the seat that she had been contemplating while riding her bike – the perfect distance in between John's chair and the door. She noticed that John was sitting down, engrossed in a large black book. It didn't look like a history book – it looked like a notebook.

John was engrossed in his book – but the sound of Marissa dropping her tote bag onto the chair next to her pulled him from what he had been concentrating on. Marissa cringed inwardly, hoping her frown wasn't evident as John looked up from his notes and glanced in her direction.

He didn't need to wonder if she was uncomfortable – the discomfort was evident in her face. His eyes met her blue orbs from across the room and she quickly looked down, pretending to flip through the book that she had set out in front of her.

Damn it, John thought to himself. He had gotten himself in quite a mess. For a moment, he thought back to that night two weeks prior in Marissa's apartment. He should have asked her _why _she had that random history book he had assigned. If he'd asked her then, he would have mustered up all of the will power within him to leave her apartment and do the right thing. That's what he told himself. He continued to gaze in her direction – and Marissa continued to flip through her book, painfully aware that he was watching her.

He was pulled out of his reverie by the sound of the final students shuffling into the class. Marissa looked away from her book and saw John close his black notebook and quickly put it into his bag. She knew it shouldn't have sparked her interest, but she wondered why he didn't leave it out. She reasoned that it wasn't related to history – it was something he didn't want anybody to see.

"Good morning." John said, rising from his chair. "At the end of class, I will be accepting your responses from the previous week's reading. I hope you all stuck to the word limit – the point of this exercise was to write in concise prose while articulating your points." A few students groaned – a few students who had gone over the allotted 500 word limit. "Truth be told, I also don't want to read more than 500 words." This comment garnered a few chuckles.

John ran a hand through his hair and Marissa shivered. That stupid gesture, she told herself. That's part of what got her in her current situation. That stupid gesture.

"We'll start by discussing your responses to Ardsley's thesis. As I can recall, this was one of the main parts of the reading that was assigned. We'll start with you." John eyed the young man sitting directly in front of him. "And, before you start – I want to let you all know that I'm bad with names. I also have a bad habit of naming people – whether they want a name or not." He smiled almost cheekily and some of the class chuckled.

The man sitting in front of John began to state why he felt that Ardsley was correct in his assertions. Marissa lost track of time – it could have been an hour that went by, but she wouldn't have known. She found it impossible to concentrate in John's class. When she was confident he wasn't looking, she would steal glances in his direction. She hated to admit it, but he was incredibly handsome. _Hot_, even. He was hot. She wondered if things would have been different had she not been in his class. She most certainly would have called him and had him over a second time.

She thought back to the way he showed her Pegasus in the night sky. It was one of John's many intricacies – he seemed so elusive, but then out of the blue, he would open up and allow her to take part in what seemed like a very private, guarded memory. Marissa quickly glanced back down at her notes to avoid detection.

John smirked as he saw Marissa glance down to her notes through the corner of his eye. A trained killer, John knew full well when somebody was staring at him. Marissa had been eying him down for most of the class.

It felt like ages, but most of the class had given their opinions on Ardsley's writing. Marissa was the only one left. Other students had volunteered to give their opinions and debate with John – and under ordinary circumstances, Marissa most certainly would have been one of the first students to speak up. This wasn't lost on John.

"Marissa." He stated simply. A few students looked back to where Marissa was sitting. "We haven't heard your opinion on this text." Marissa looked up from her notes and gazed into John's eyes. He saw a lot in her blue orbs – he was taken aback. Memories of that night two weeks ago began to flood his mind. The pleasant thoughts, however, were quickly supplanted by his most recent memory of Marissa walking down to him to tell him that he was a drunken indiscretion.

John hoped that nobody in the class noticed his reaction. He began to speak again, attempting to string his words together.

"Did you agree with Ardsley's thesis?" He managed.

Marissa noticed that John seemed off. She tilted her head slightly and put her pen down. She didn't know where her confidence came from, but she couldn't look away from John's eyes.

"No, I didn't." She paused, pushing a strand of brown hair behind her left ear. "His argument was based on flimsy evidence – most of which is source material from the 1940s." John wasn't expecting this answer – all of the other students had stated that they agreed with Ardsley.

"Ardsley's opinion is the prevailing one in its field." John countered.

Marissa smiled. "Ardsley's opinion is largely based on military reports, professor." She picked up her pen and began to twirl it in her right hand – a habit that she was never able to break, no matter how hard she tried. "Military reports are notoriously one sided," she added.

"The military, however, was there on the field. It had access to all of the necessary information." John countered, once again. The other students had been timid – Marissa wasn't. He wasn't expecting this from her – he was expecting her to sink into her chair from the embarrassment. She surprised him, once again.

"So were the people, professor. The people were there too. There's more than one side to the story… and Ardsley's narrative is completely one sided. That's its main weakness." Marissa put her pen down once again and grew quiet. Had she just challenged John in front of the class? She hoped that it would end soon, as she could feel the eyes of the class focused on her.

"That's a pretty strong assertion, Marissa." John replied, almost smiling. She had a fight in her, he realized. She was strong willed.

"You asked me for my opinion, professor." Marissa responded. She then looked down at her phone to check the time. Class would be over in less than five minutes. John noticed a few of the students glancing over at the clock.

"You're all out of the hot seat this week, folks. Remember that we will be discussing Chevening's work next week. After you pass down your response papers, you're free to go." John walked to his desk and began to gather his things. He didn't intend on lingering in the lecture hall longer than he had to.

Marissa passed her paper down to the front of the class and began to gather her items. She picked up her tote bag and rose from her seat. She noticed a few of the students staring at her. A female student – who she recognized before from other classes – scowled at her. Jenna, Marissa remembered. Jenna Knowles. She sighed, knowing full well that Jenna would have something immature to say about what transpired in class. She always seemed to have a snarky remark – it was almost as if she was jealous of Marissa's academic ability and always sought to undermine her whenever possible.

Pushing thoughts of Jenna out of her head, Marissa sent her friend Jane a quick text in the hallway before heading to the bike rack outside of the lecture hall. As soon as Marissa opened the large oak door, she cursed inwardly. It was raining – and it was raining hard.

Her vintage, foldable Bianchi bike was chained to the rack – rain pouring all over it. Sitting on the damn thing would have wet her jeans beyond the point of being reasonable. Marissa looked down at her shoes – calf hair ballet flats – and sighed. Her clothes would most certainly be ruined. She partially zipped up her leather jacket, trying to gather what warmth she could before walking out into the rain.

Before she could even step out of the building and make her way down the stairs, she was interrupted.

"You're really riding your bike to your place in this rain?" Marissa's eyes widened. She knew that voice – it was John's.

"That's what it looks like," Marissa responded. She turned her head to face John and gave him a slight smile. She felt her face growing red – thoughts of confronting John the week prior flooded her mind.

"We're practically in a monsoon, Marissa," John replied, her name rolling off of his tongue like honey.

"I'd better get started then, before the rain grows worse." Marissa responded quickly, hoping to get out of John's presence as soon as she could. She felt awkward and childish, thinking back to the way she confronted John the week before.

"I can give you a ride." John stated resolutely. Marissa turned to John once again and looked at him. There was no uncertainty in his voice – he spoke as if he already knew that she would accept his offer. He spoke like a leader – confident that his will would be done.

"Why?" Marissa asked forcefully. "After what I said to you last week, _why_ do you want to give me a ride?" She stood with her arms across her chest. John smirked slightly – she was attractive, he thought, when she tried to look authoritative.

"I'm a good person," he replied.

"So, this is in your 'do good' nature, then?" John smirked.

"Something like that." John began to walk toward the bike rack. He saw there was one bike left on the rack. Reasoning that it was Marissa's, he picked up her lock. "Help me take this off. I'll carry it to my car."

"This isn't necessary." Marissa stated quickly. She knew that getting in the car with John would be trouble – yet deep down, she wanted it to happen.

"Of course it is." John smirked. "If you wait there any longer at the top of those steps, we won't get anywhere. I need you to unlock this." He smiled. Marissa chuckled slightly, before quickly looking around her to make sure nobody was watching. John noticed this and frowned. Rodney McKay had been right – she had rejected him because she thought she had to. She didn't want to get caught with a professor.

Marissa walked down the steps and quickly unlocked her bike chain. She bent down to fold the bike – and for the first time in quite a while, as thankful that her 1972 bike was foldable. Marissa rose from the ground and John instinctively reached down to pick it up. She grabbed the basket that she attached to the front and carried it along with her tote bag.

"My car's in the D lot." He said casually, holding the bike in his right arm as if it weighed nothing. As the two made their way to John's car, the rain began to grow worse. Though she didn't' want to admit it, Marissa had been glad that John offered her the ride.

John stopped in front of an electric blue '77 Chevy Nova and popped the trunk.

"Really?" Marissa asked, before she could even think.

"Really." John smirked, delicately placing her bike in his trunk. John's bright blue car stood out in a lot full of silver, black, and other dark colored cars.

As Marissa got into his car, she quickly glanced around to make sure that nobody was watching.

"You worried about somebody following you?" John joked, as the pair opened their car doors.

Marissa sighed. "You know full well what I'm worried about," she replied quietly. "I shouldn't be seen with you – not after what happened."

"Ah. The rules. The unwritten rules." John shook his head slightly.

"They're not unwritten rules, John. They're in the university handbook." Marissa stated calmly as she put her seatbelt on.

John turned to look at Marissa. "You didn't mean what you said." He stated plainly. "You lied."

"For a good reason."

"You're not the type of woman who makes _drunken indiscretions._"

Marissa laughed. "You don't know anything about the type of woman I am." She shook her head slightly as John turned on the car. Before John switched gears, he looked at the woman who sat close to him.

"What have you heard about me, Marissa?" He asked almost randomly. Before she could process her thoughts, Marissa spoke.

"That you're a recluse. That nobody knows precisely _what_ you did before coming to the university. You're a mystery. No papers, no curriculum vitae, and you sure has hell make yourself scarce." Marissa looked at John, holding his gaze. "You're a mystery to everybody in the department."

"Then you should know by now that I don't do this very often." John sighed. "Anymore." He added quietly.

Marissa pondered the meaning of his words. Did he mean that he didn't spend time with women – or did he mean that he avoided people altogether?

John shifted gears and began to drive.

"I'm sorry." Marissa said quietly. She looked toward John – they were sitting at a red light. John smirked inwardly. "I'm sorry for being an asshole." Marissa added quickly. "That was a nasty fucking thing to say. I'm sorry."

"It was nice to hear you say that. Not gonna lie." John replied, now showing his smirk. The light in front of them turned green and he continued to drive.

"What do you want from me, John?" Marissa asked, raising an eyebrow. Her voice wasn't quiet – it was strong. Assertive.

"I want for you to stop looking at me like I'm the Grinch who's about to destroy your history career." Marissa burst out into laughter. "Because, I'm not." John smiled, taking in her laugh. "I don't even like Grinches. They remind me _far_ too much of clowns. And I _hate_ clowns." Marissa chuckled.

"That's all?" She raised her eyebrow again, relishing in the lighter mood between them.

"Honestly?" John asked, while focusing on the road. He was silent for a moment; it was only in that moment that Marissa realized Johnny Cash had been playing on the tape deck for the duration of their ride. "I want to see you again."

Marissa coughed slightly, unsure of how to approach this development. Last week, she had gone out of her way to blow him off. She saw the hurt in is eyes – that hurt you feel when you put yourself out there only to get blown to pieces and tossed aside. She hated herself for it – and she sincerely hoped that he saw through her crap shortly after the whole thing took place. As she sat next to him in his Chevy Nova, it was apparent that he saw through everything.

She decided in that moment that she would be honest – that was all she had to offer at that point. She had had one week to think about what she said to John, and in that week realized that she had erred.

"That's easier said than done, John." Marissa sighed. "It'll be too hard to hide."

"I have connections." John stated simply.

"Another secret? Like your job before the university?" Marissa asked. John nodded.

"Nobody is going to go on a witch hunt and end your career." The way he responded to her sounded so resolute – it sounded as if John had laid down the law.

"I won't ask, because I know you won't answer – but whatever you were into before you came to Boulder… it must have been pretty damned big." Marissa looked at John with a slight smile. John noted that she didn't sound bitter.

"Yeah." John stated. "It was." He thought quickly of Atlantis – and he tried to push all that he had left behind out of the corner of his mind. John recognized Marissa's apartment building from his visit two weeks prior. He pulled to the curb. "Looks like we're here." The pair got out of the car and John opened the trunk.

He lifted her bicycle out of the trunk and placed it on the sidewalk next to his car.

"I've got an appointment, but I meant what I said earlier." John said as he ran a hand through his hair.

"I know you did." Marissa pulled her leather jacket around her tightly, as she was caught off guard by the autumn chill in the air.

"You have my number, Marissa." John said with a smirk. Marissa frowned to herself. Of course John would make her go after him now – after what she said. Of course he would. "Call me when you want to make plans." Before Marissa could say anything else, John closed his trunk and got into his Chevy Nova. In less than thirty seconds, John's car was gone from view and Marissa was standing on the sidewalk in front of her building, next to her folded bicycle.

No longer caring if she did the right thing, she picked up her bike, walked to her door, and made her way into her building. She had a long day ahead of her – and now she would be facing it with a racing mind.

Outside of her apartment, Jenna Knowles smirked. She could spot John Sheppard's car a mile away – and the sight of Marissa Carson getting into his car was too good to be true. She had followed the pair in her car and had heard the conversation that transpired on the sidewalk. Jenna, satisfied that she had heard enough, got back into her car and began to drive away. She didn't have enough to bring Marissa Carson down, but she was well on her way.

xxxx

To be continued.


	4. Chapter 4

Author's Note: I've decided to return to writing fic after a rather long hiatus. Sorry for keeping you waiting. I hope you enjoy this update. If you have any reviews, please don't forget to leave them when you are done reading. I enjoy feedback; it makes me a much better writer.

Chapter 4.

A few errant beads of sweat fell down John Sheppard' forehead, settling into his dark eyebrows. He held two Bantos rods firmly in his hands as he looked at his friend across the room. Ronon Dex sensed the fire in his friends' eyes.

"You wanna win tonight?" Ronon taunted John with a smirk. There was something different about him. It was like something had returned to the man before him – something that was lost years ago with Atlantis.

"Always." John spat back, strategically twirling one of his rods. He gazed at his friend and tried to analyze the best way to make a move.

"Well then…" Ronon arched an eyebrow and grinned widely. "Come and get it."

John charged at his friend, boldly attacking him. Energy flowed through John; Ronon could feel the fire that he saw earlier. Ronon prayed to his dead Satedan gods and hoped that the fire would remain – too often would John perk up, only to have his fire dim out spark by spark, slowly into the darkness of the night.

The two men sparred until they could no longer fight. They had been going at it for the better part of an hour. Looking into each other's eyes, the two men nodded and laid down their Bantos rods. John walked over to one of the racks in Ronon's martial arts studio and pulled a mat off of it. Placing the mat on the ground, he began to stretch out.

"You decided to break the rules." Ronon stated simply, gazing at his friend as he stretched his muscles.

"I'm not sure if I follow you," John replied with a smirk. He knew what Ronon was referring to, and he didn't give a damn.

Ronon chuckled, and moved cleared the Bantos rods from the floor, placing them on their rack on the wall. He leaned against the wall and continued to look at John.

"Well… this is… different." Ronon remarked.

"Yeah," John muttered. "It is."

"Why the change?" John looked at his friend and wasn't sure how to respond.

Sighing, John stopped stretching and stood up.

"For the first time since I was on Atlantis, I felt like if I told her – Marissa – everything about what I've done, she'd believe me. She wouldn't think I'm crazy. She wouldn't judge. She would just accept it, and realize that it is what it is." John said in an almost quiet voice.

Ronon gave his friend a grim look. "You can't tell her a damned thing, Shep." Ronon's voice sounded slightly pained.

"Didn't say I was – I said that _if_ I told her, I know she'd believe me." John corrected Ronon. "There's a difference."

"And you're going after her, then?" Ronon inquired, knowing what the answer would be – however, he wanted to hear John say it.

John smirked and ran a hand through his messy hair. "That would be correct."

xx

"I'm sorry, I don't think I heard you correctly." Jane looked at her friend with a sense of disbelief as she took a swig from her beer. "You're gonna see him again?!" Jane was curled up on Marissa's couch, watching her intently.

"That's what it looks like…" Marissa sighed.

"Do you really think that's wise?" Jane countered, looking Marissa dead on.

"It's technically not against the rules," Marissa reasoned, chasing her words down with a sip of her Corona.

"You can't be serious," Jane retorted, almost choking on her beer. "You checked in the handbook!"

Marissa looked down. The truth was, she had checked. The University of Colorado had updated its policy on relationships between students and professors. She went to her laptop and pulled up the page on the internet and showed it to Jane.

"Hmmm." Jane read over the text. "How official…" Jane muttered wryly. "The Amorous Relationships policy of the University of Colorado…" Jane skimmed through the article.

"See? It's not expressly forbidden." Marissa countered back to Jane. "I'm not asking you to approve. I don't know why the hell I'm doing this, but I can't shake him." Jane knew that feeling all too well. "It's like he's been watching out for me since we crossed paths at that bar. He didn't need to protect me from Clint, but he did. He didn't need to walk me home, but he did. And then the ride when it was raining – after did nothing but insult him? I told you what I said to him! I told him it was nothing – I tried to push him away!"

"Yeah, you told me." Jane replied, going back to her spot on the couch and returning to her Corona.

"It was like… he looked pained." Marissa added solemnly. "I could see it in his eyes that he knew I was lying to him… and damn it, I felt like I was disrespecting him."

"Well… from what you said, you kind of were." Jane chuckled. "You apologized, though. Points for you."

"Heh." Marissa still didn't know what to make of her current predicament. "So… no lecture from you, oh wise one?" Jane laughed openly.

"I wasn't going to let you get away without my two cents." Jane put her beer down and looked at her friend. "I read the policy you showed me. It says that consenting relationships are allowed, but that they must be disclosed to John's supervisor. It also says that he can't be responsible for grading you due to a conflict of interest."

"Yeah. I know." Marissa sighed. "I read the damned thing about fifty times."

"Then you know that you're technically not in the clear. He's your supervisor, and from what I can tell, he probably has no intention of reporting this to his own supervisor. The thing is, I just want you to be careful."

"I know… I appreciate that." Marissa replied with a slight smile, touching her friend's hand. "Thank you."

"Just be careful. I don't want to see anything like this undo all of your hard work."

xx

Marissa twisted her pen in her hands. She sat in one of the middle rows of the lecture hall, observing John as he taught. He could feel her eyes on him as he leafed through well-worn pages of a paperback book on the limits of American military power.

"Taylor's text is on the agenda for this week. Like usual, I'm asking for a concise response, addressing whether or not his thesis should be considered the standard in his field." John placed the book down on the desk that he was leaning on and ran a hand through his hair.

"What do you mean by standard, Professor?" Jenna Knowles asked in a flirtatious voice, twirling a long strand of blonde hair with her fingers. Marissa struggled to contain a laugh and rolled her eyes. Was this chick serious? Marissa observed John as he tried his best to mask his frustration.

John smirked slightly. "Sure, I'll translate for you." He looked down and crossed his muscular arms against his chest. "Sometimes, I can be difficult to understand." He smiled at Jenna. She began to blush. "What I want to know is whether or not you think that Taylor's thesis should be considered the consensus among historians and enthusiasts." He continued to lean against the desk.

"Thank you, Professor," Jenna said with a smile. She continued twirling her hair in her fingers. "That's helpful."

"I try." John said in a sarcastic voice. "Any other questions, gang?" Nobody spoke up or raised their hands. "Alrighty, then. See you next week." John picked up his book from the desk and strode out of the lecture hall, making his way to his office.

Marissa scooped up her belongings and delicately placed them in her tote bag. She looked up and watched the members of the class file out quickly, eager to be done for the day. She saw Jenna rise from her chair out of the corner of her eye and slowly make her way up the steps to the door. Marissa tried her best not to sneer or make eye contact – she really wanted to keep any interaction with Jenna to a minimum.

Jenna paused when she got to Marissa's chair. Sensing the blonde presence before her, Marissa looked up and her eyes met her adversary.

"I'm sorry if I bothered you with my question, Marissa." Jenna stated with a slight smirk. "Unlike other women in this class, I actually have to write well to earn a good grade."

Marissa froze and looked into Jenna's eyes.

"What are you implying, Knowles?" Marissa rose from her seat and grabbed her tote bag, barely taking time to fling it over her shoulder.

"You know." Jenna remarked flippantly, as she blocked Marissa from exiting her row. 

"I don't." Marissa hissed. "Enlighten me."

"I'm just saying that some of us aren't sleeping with our professors in exchange for grades… some of us have to work harder than you, Carson." Jenna said in an innocent and sticky sweet voice.

"That's a good one." Marissa answered. "Any evidence to prove your theory?" Jenna had nothing. When Marissa's ex boyfriend Clint told her about the man who beat him up, she knew John Sheppard was involved – but she knew that she couldn't involve Clint in any way. Marissa had, after all, a restraining order I place. Observing John driving Marissa home so she wouldn't get stuck in the rain also wasn't enough, and she knew it.

Marissa sighed, eying the woman who stood before her. "Just like I thought. You don't have anything." Marissa moved forward, challenging Jenna to get out of the way. "If you have anything else to say, say it now – otherwise, get out of my way."

Jenna sneered at Marissa and moved, letting her quickly exit the lecture hall. After Marissa left the lecture hall, she practically ran out of the building. She wanted to get to her bike and get out of Dodge as quickly as possible.

When Marissa got to her bike, she placed her tote bag in the basket and began to undo her bike's lock. Before getting on, she checked her iPhone. She had a text – from John. She smiled as she saw the text on her phone.

'I'm picking you up at 8:00 PM. Wear something casual.' Marissa smirked a bit, wondering what John had planned.

She sent John a text back. 'See you then.' She hit enter, unsure of what else to say to him. Throwing her phone back into her tote bag, she got on her bike and began to ride back to her apartment.


End file.
